Catch a Falling Star
by Orlando Hope
Summary: Clarie & Charlie one-shot, fluff. Takes place after Claire is found and returns to camp.


1**Legal Notice: I am not affiliated with "Lost," ABC or anything remotely like "Lost" or ABC. I am receiving no financial kickbacks for this goofy, sappy little story. Gracias. **

It was inconceivable that cheerful, bubbly Claire hadn't spoken a word in over two weeks. She simply sat starting out at her beloved ocean, seemingly not taking in the sun on her face, the water lapping at her toes, or the cries of the birds–little things she used to enjoy. Her beloved journal lay forgotten and half-buried in the sand. No one–not Jack and his easy way, Sawyer and his dangerous good looks, or Walt and Vincent with their youthful enthusiasm–had been able to coax a word out of Claire.

Nor had Charlie.

Charlie Pace, who had once felt so useless on the island, now had a full-time job: nursing Claire. He made sure she ate and drank, tenderly combed her sun-warmed hair every afternoon (actually, it wasn't a comb as much as a guitar pick, but neither Claire or Charlie were very choosy) and told her funny stories and jokes from his life on the road. He even told her about his niece, Meghan, who he suddenly realized he missed. He never realized it was possible to miss someone he'd never even known. He wondered if Meghan liked to sing in the bathtub, if she loved carrots yet despised broccoli, just like her Uncle Charlie. He wondered if any of himself would live on in that precious little girl.

He wondered what had happened to Claire's baby.

When he'd found Claire a fortnight ago, she'd been dirty, bruised and unconscious. And bloody. Very, very bloody. He hadn't known a person could loose so much blood and still exist. He didn't know a body as lithe as Claire's could hold so much blood. As he'd looked down at her broken, bloody body, a small voice inside had warned him not to move her. What if she had broken bones, internal injuries, had hit her head? Rationally, he knew the proper procedure. And, had his body belonged to anyone else, he would have quickly ran for help. But this was Claire–the precious girl he had promised to protect. His Claire.

He'd dropped to his knees, and easily lifted Claire's body into his arms. She filled Charlie's embrace like a rag doll, limp and lifeless. He didn't think to check her pulse or breathing–there was no need. He knew Claire was alive. There was no doubt. He'd sobbed, prayed, almost died for this girl–he wasn't going to lose her now.

What he'd failed to notice, Kate pointed out right away. Charlie had staggered into the cave camp, Claire's head lolling over his arm, and all chaos broke out. It was like the crash all over again–screams, pleading, tears. Jack had shoved Charlie aside and quickly began checking Claire's vitals. Jack had just begun CPR when Charlie heard Kate's anguished question.

"Where's the baby?"

The baby...the baby! Claire's tummy, formerly so round and fertile, was flat. Flat. That must mean...she had delivered the baby. Had he been so focused on saving Claire that he had overlooked her baby? Had he left the baby in the jungle to die?

Charlie had turned and began running blindly into the jungle. He began struggling when soft, strong arms held him back.

"We'll go." It was Kate again. "Sayid, Locke and I. We'll look for the baby."

Charlie nodded. He could hear Rose praying in the background. For a moment, more than anything, Charlie wanted to again be the simple Catholic boy who loved to sing and strum his guitar. No Drive Shaft, no drugs, no feeling of helplessness. He wanted the life he used to have. Or, better yet, he wanteed a new life, off this island, alone with Claire. They could live in Sydney. He'd raise the baby as his own–a playmate for Meghan. He'd sing his little family to sleep every night, feast on peanut butter sandwiches, and buy Claire a new journal every Mother's Day and Christmas. She, too, deserved a chance to start over.

Two weeks later, and there was no sign of the baby. Every day, Kate, Jack, Sayid, Locke and Michael searched the jungle for Claire's baby. There was no sign of the baby, no sign of Ethan. And no sign of the girl Claire had been such a short time ago.

Claire sat silent as Charlie talked. He made up silly stories about star fish who went to live in the sky,

recited Bible verses and even hummed a bit. He told Claire about a recurring dream he'd had when he was very small, one where his grandmother turned into a large tap-dancing fish. He even talked about losing his virginity to Polly O'Riley, a local prostitute Liam had "given" him for his eighteenth birthday.

"You know, dude, that might not be the best story," Hurley advised.

For the first fifteen years of their marriage, Rose and her husband had prayed for a child. Rose knew her rough-and-tumble husband, with his cotton candy heart, had wanted a little girl to kiss and cuddle. Rose, though, had hoped for a son. When midlife came, and Rose knew she no longer had any hope of having a child, she had devoted her life to her nieces and nephews and never looked back. Now, holding Charlie as he slept, she felt like her prayers had been answered. She had a son at last.

She looked down at Charlie's face, peaceful and innocent in sleep. He had fallen asleep sobbing into Rose's bosom. Charlie sobbed like he lived; full of passion and intensity, like his very soul was in danger. Rose feared it was.

Shifting Charlie in her arms, Rose sighed. It was so hard to stay faithful sometimes, so difficult to put everything in God's omnipresent hands. Where was God when this sweet child was hanging, practically lifeless, from a tree in the jungle? Where was God when Claire was taken, when her precious baby was taken? Was God able tofind this eerie little island on his map? Had they been blown a thousand miles off God's course as well?

Shaking her head violently, Rose ordered herself to stop thinking that way. God was here. God heard their prayers. She just had to have faith.

"Faith and trust and pixie dust," Rose said softly, simling to herself. The familiar line from Walt Disney's

_Peter Pan _had always been a silly comfort to her. Rose had spent over 50 years having faith and hope. She wouldn't give up now.

She looked down at the angel in her arms. "I only wish I had some pixie dust to sprinkle over you," she

whispered, holding Charlie tighter as he moaned and thrashed in his sleep.

Claire was beyond exhausted. She was afraid to sleep, even with Charlie watching over her. Maybe _because _Charlie was watching over her. He had almost died, trying to protect her and the baby. Unaccustomed didn't want that to happen again. If the Others came after them again, she wanted to be awake and ready. She'd die herself before she'd let Charlie put himself in danger again.

"Hey there."

Clarie's head shot up, her fight-or-flight instinct on alert. Oh. It was only Sawyer, gazing down at her with a sexy half-smile and vacant eyes. "I thought you might be looking for this."

It was her pen. In his hand, Sawyer held the funny little airline pen she had been using to write in her journal. She couldn't think about her journal, about the innocent, trusting Claire she had been weeks ago. This island–this branch of Hell–had stolen everything from her. There was nothing left to record in a journal.

Turning away, Claire shook her head. Sawyer didn't move, just continued to stand above her. She could feel his blue-eyed gaze, heavy and searching, upon her. She wanted to tell him to keep the damned pen; just leave her alone.

"Listen, I've heard you haven't spoken since...well, since you _returned_. That can't be healthy. What you going to do if you that dopey little Englishman of yours gets too fresh? Just lie back like a good little girl and take it? You don't want to end up preggers again, little girl."

Her dopey little Englishman...perhaps the best way to keep Charlie safe was to separate herself from him completely, to erase him from her life. Being away from Charlie was like a death in itself. Yet they had both already died once. Did she have the strength, the energy, the will do die again? If she spent time with Kate's "Southern pervert," perhaps the others would think she preferred him to Charlie.

But then, a little voice inside her nagged, so would Charlie.

She couldn't do it to him. She couldn't kill Charlie off twice. Struggling to her feet, still unaccustomed to living without the baby's weight, she faced Sawyer.

And took the pen from his hand.

That night, Claire took Charlie by the hand and led him deep into the forest. She wanted to visit a waterfall Kate had told her about. She wanted to be alone with Charlie, far away from the sympathetic gazes and hushed whispers.

"I look a little nap earlier," Charlie said, stumbling a bit over a protruding tree root. "Rose promised to watch over you for me. We can trust Rose."

"She loves you," Claire whispered.

Self-consciously, Charlie reached back to scratch the nape of his neck. "Yeah, I think she's–"

he stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes widening. "Claire! You talked!"She almost giggled. He sounded so excited. It was so amazing, how the little things seemed to thrill little Charlie Pace.

She led him to the bank of the waterfall, where they both sat down on the muddy earth. Claire stared into the water, and she could feel Charlie's gaze on her, much as she had felt Sawyer's hours earlier. She took a deep breath. "I don't remember anything, Charlie."

Charlie's expression, so hopeful and excited, suddenly soured. "Nor do I."

"But I want to remember. I _have _to remember. If I am to have any memories at all of the baby, I need to recall what happened in the jungle."

Charlie wanted to let it go. He didn't want to remember how he'd ended up hanging lifelessly from a tree. He wanted to forget the trek into the jungle, the terror of not being able to protect Claire and the baby. He wanted to forget.

Claire watched the emotions play across his face. He was still hurting. So was she, if she let herself think about it. _No! _There would be no more wallowing in self-pity for Claire. She had to be strong. She had to be strong for her baby boy. There was no doubt in Claire's mind the baby had been a boy. A precious little boy with ten perfect fingers and ten tiny toes. She thought about what Charlie had said about Meghan, how he missed a little girl he barely even knew. But Claire knew her baby. Claire was missining someone she knew and loved, someone she had protected and shielded from the world for almost nine months.

She also had to be strong for Charlie. He looked so tired. She wasn't used to that; her Charlie, looking tired and defeated. He had spent so long protecting her, caring for her, _loving _her...What could Claire do to make sure Charlie became Charlie again?

Suddenly, it came to her. "Charlie..." Claire began.

Charlie glanced over at her, his eyes large in his elfin face. "What, Claire?"

Claire blushed a little. This might sound silly. "Do you know the lullaby 'Catch a falling star'?"

Charlie looked a bit confused. "You mean, 'Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket'? That song?"

"I had planned on singing it to the baby. When I–" she paused, suddenly sad. It hurt to remember this particular memory. "When I found a couple to adopt the baby, back in Australia, I mean, I asked the mum to sing that lullaby to the baby." God, Claire thought. If she had just listened to the voice of reason–_instead of that stupid psychic!!_–her baby would be loved and healthy. Instead, because she had been foolish enough to listen to a psychic, her baby had been...her baby was lost.

"You can't blame yourself, Claire," Charlie said softly, covering her hand with his. Claire glanced down at their intertwined hands. So did Charlie. This time, he was the one to blush. Claire swallowed a giggle.

"Now, after after what you did with Polly O'Riley, don't tell me a little hand holding is making you blush!" Claire teased.

Charlie's flush deepened. "Hurley told me to pick another story," he muttered.

Laughing, Claire leaned over and brushed Charlie's lips with her own. The simple, spontaneous kiss surprised them both. All laughter gone, Claire leaned in closer to Charlie's body. She could feel his heated breath on her face, could count every tiny freckle on his nose...

Charlie, reeling from the kiss, rested his forehead against Claire's. "If we start this," he breathed, his chest heaving. "I'm afraid I'll never be able to stop."

Claire's eyes fluttered closed. Charlie wrapped his arms around her, trapping her against his chest. She felt the rapid tattoo of his racing heart, heard his ragged brething. It would be so easy for her to take full ownership of this man, to make him her slave in every way. Claire looked foward to that day.

When the time was right.

"Catch a falling star and put in in your pocket,

save it for a rainy day.

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket,

never let it fade away.

Never let it fade away,

never let it fade away."

Charlie's voice was full of loss and hope, happiness and grief. She loved his voice. She loved Charlie. Someday, they would find their baby. This island would not destroy her first chance at happiness.

With their arms around each other, Claire and Charlie lay back on the earth, lost in a world of shooting stars.


End file.
